I have a fetish for houses. The brick structures, sometimes tall and red and at other times yellowish and sprawling across streets have their own stories to tell. I feel.
As a child, I was fascinated by my mamarbari or my uncle’s house in Barrackpore. This three-storied darkish yellow building with its long red corridors embodied everything that was fun and frolic. Many an afternoon was spent playing Ludo and Chinese Checkers in the rooms whose ceilings resembled deserted railway tracks. And whenever I looked up from the Ludo board to the iron framework ceiling my heart would leap across to the distant fields like Apu and Durga.
The house had an open courtyard and a sparkling fountain that lit up when dusk settled in. And nothing was more enjoyable than watching the lights play in the fountains like Aurora Borealis or Northern Lights. My cousin who was also my favourite companion in those years watched fondly as my eyes lit up at that moment.
Then there was the Annapurna puja held in the same premises as my mamarbari. Not that I understood the rituals much but what has stayed on is one custom where the married ladies of the home prayed with 3 terracotta lighted lamps delicately balanced in the two hands and on the head. I often wondered at the gymnastic capabilities of my grandmom and aunties. Yes, I still do.
And as summer holidays set in, my mind itched for the long vacations in this house. It meant endless laughter and fun and not having to take the afternoon siesta perforce.
How times change! Now I long for those long afternoon naps cuddled in my home. My uncle’s house has also undergone a massive transformation. My grandmom and great grandmom have set foot for the land of no return. And many of my aunts too. My friend and childhood companion is also not there.
The behemoth structure, today, looks sullen. Decidedly morose with the residents forsaking the sprawling structure one by one. Some for greener pastures and the others for the land of no return. Even the fountain does not smile with the glorious Northern Lights.
Wonder what story it will tell me now when I visit the place for the next Annapurna puja. I do not know.
The author started off as a journalist with the ABP group, went places, and is now an IT professional. And when she is not busy with her deliverables, she writes.
